Distress
by Namitha
Summary: So there is a person on tumblr (naughtylokiconfessions) who posted a not-so-naughty confession about Loki that someone had submitted. Well, the admin of the blog put their own little note at the end: "Someone should write this." So I did. The prompt is inside, above the story. Be gentle, I literally wrote this in ten minutes...


Prompt: Something that helps me get through rough spots when I'm stuck in my head is thinking that maybe if Loki were to show up and see someone who just looked like they were about to give up that he would stop, do something small without them noticing he was there, and then go about his merry way to take over the world as planned. It may be silly, but sometimes, I feel like he would do that, despite whatever plans he may have. Because deep inside he still has a heart.

Tears streamed down her face openly, and she didn't bother to wipe them away. She sat at her desk, her expression blank other than the tears, her hands clutched around a picture. In the picture was a man, smiling and happy, standing next to a younger and blonder version of herself. He was in army fatigues.

She had seen him only twice since then, once two Christmases ago, and he surprised her more recently on her last birthday.  
Both times she had cherished his presence, always eager to see him again soon after. But, war didn't take a break, and so neither did he, the stubborn bastard.

A sob escaped her lips, the first noise she had made since the messenger had left, and she flipped the photo over. There were two names and a date on the back, "Ryan M. Way, Amanda C. Way. July 23, 2011." And Amanda could feel her heart breaking at the sight of her brothers messy scrawl on the back of the picture.  
He had died, a gunshot wound from an unseen enemy sniper, went through his brain, he didn't feel a thing…

The words of the messenger buzzed in her head. With each passing second, the hole where her heart had been was figuratively ripped wider and wider, and she was slowly losing control of herself. She hunched over, her head slamming down into the desk, and an agonized wail emerged from her chest. She felt as though she could die right there.  
Her brother was her world, her rock, her solid ground…  
And now he was gone.

She sobbed on her desk, her shoulders shaking violently. She swung her arm out, slamming the cup of pens and pile of homework worksheets and essays onto the floor. The quiet shuffle of papers hitting the floor was drowned out by her sobs. But so was the quiet shuffle of them being lifted and stacked again, placed neatly on the floor. So was the sound of her pens being grouped together and placed delicately back into her cup. So was the sound of a swishing cloak as a man, a tall, dark haired man, picked up the mess she had just thrown to the floor. He stood behind her, watching almost curiously as she cried over her lost brother. He could see the photograph in her hand, could see Ryan's smiling face. And he could feel her grief and angst almost rolling off her in waves.  
He stayed there, picking up anything she happened to knock over, and waiting for her to fall asleep.

When she finally did, several hours later, he gently lifted her into his arms and carried her to the little twin sized bed across the room. He laid her down on the messy little bed, lifting her feet to yank the blanket out and cover her body with it.

He was going to leave again, going to leave her laying awkwardly under her blanket, but he glanced at her face. Even in sleep, she looked troubled and upset; her cheeks were tear-streaked and swollen, her nose was red, her eyes were puffy from being rubbed at…  
So he turned again and rearranged her to lie on her side, her hair strewn gracefully behind her. He used the edge of his cloak to wipe at her cheeks gently, wiping away the traces of her tears. He tucked the blanket close around her body, his long fingers brushing against her cheek again as he stepped back. Lastly, he moved to the desk and lifted the picture of her and her brother, placing it on the pillow next to her head. He looked over his handiwork contently, only staying further to rearrange her belongings from neat piles on the floor back into neat piles on the desk, before he swept out of the room and away from the sleeping young girl without a second glance.


End file.
